Three of Hearts
by Valdryfor
Summary: The Courier's fixation on the story of the "Father in the Caves" in Zion runs on a more personal level. The parallels are evident, and now he must reevaluate himself.


Six skirted around the narrow drop-offs on the route to the Red Gate, sweating from the heat and canyon heights despite the fact that he should have been used to them by now. He moved along carefully, a difficult task for a man of his beefy build, and balanced his pack as the sounds of wildlife signaled the first hour of dusk. Hoping to complete this venture before nightfall, he quickened his pace as much as he could and wondered if he should have brought Follows-Chalk or Waking Cloud along after all.

The contents of the terminal entries stuck out in his mind during his progress forward. Even without explaining why, he felt that Joshua had understood his need to seek this out, which surprised him. The outcome of a tribal war depended on his assistance, and here he was, climbing some remote canyon across the western end of Zion as if on a leisurely sightseeing trip. However, he _did_ need this.

The gold ring taking permanent residence in his pocket served as a constant reminder.

Six cursed when he nearly slipped off one ledge, grasping a nearby set of sturdy plant roots to steady himself. All things considered, he'd been through worse than attempting to confront his own fear of heights, but he truly hoped the "Father" was worth it. If he'd managed to accomplish all he had thus far, only to faint and perish at the bottom of the jagged rocks below, he suspected he would be the laughingstock of all legendary figures that lay resting in the area.

Finally, he reached what he believed to be the summit. Hoisting himself up on the last set of rocks, he found his reward in the form of a breathtaking view of the Virgin River. Orange tinged the water and saturated the entire valley with a warm glow. He took a moment to appreciate the untouched natural beauty, as he did whenever time allowed. Silence proved rare; peace, rarer still.

Moving on, he focused on his task and searched around, finally locating his goal. The remains of Randall Clark, the "Father in the Cave," sat propped next to his duffel bag against one rock wall. Six regarded the skeleton for a full minute as a gesture of respect, witnessing the ending of a story he had followed since discovering the scattered entries. This man had become a deity to an entire tribe of people, the truth of his good deeds left blanketed in mystery and technology. But for someone like Six, it was the tragedies of Randall's life that drew him to pursue the last page of the book.

Murmuring an apology for looting the dead, Six kneeled down and rummaged through the duffel bag until his fingers felt the coveted piece of hardware. He produced the holotape and sat on his haunches, playing its epilogue through his Pip-Boy. Afterward, he didn't know how to proceed.

Randall Clark had died a good man. Despite his losses, his personal suffering, and his survivor's guilt, he had given more to others than anyone could have known. The Sorrows lived now, in the present day, because of him. He had survived for years against all odds, he had achieved great feats, and, although he wanted to at times, he had never run away. Not from danger, not from hardship, not from the memories of his family.

Six's jaw clenched.

It was time he did the same.

-x X x-

Westside appeared as dilapidated as he'd last seen it, despite the leaders' claims that they were improving the district. Six walked past several of the residents, most he didn't recognize. Some greeted him, but he continued on, his gaze set on one particular rundown house at the far edge of town.

In the weeks since helping to quell the White Legs' threat in Zion, he had read through Randall's story twice more. One man's love for his wife and child, even through harsh luck and his love and loss of a second set, fascinated Six. And shamed him.

As soon as he reached the front yard of the house, the door flung open. Six stopped in his tracks and stood there uncertainly as a young boy bounded out and sped toward him. The hesitant joy on the child's face caused Six's heart to constrict, especially since it was a face so similar to his own. Emerging from the house soon after, a red-haired woman met his vision, her tired blue eyes lighting up when they saw him. He noted the ragged gray dress she wore, the premature gnarling in her hands. She followed close behind the boy, guarded hope written all over her expression.

"Dad!" the child exclaimed, launching himself at Six and clamping onto his waist.

_Dad_. It tore him to pieces because it still rang no bells.

Regardless, he dropped his pack and returned the boy's hug. Close to a month had passed since he'd traced his past here. Since he'd met these people for the first time. Since he'd walked out on them when he failed to recognize them.

"You came back! Do you remember me yet? Do you? Huh?" the child—Brayden, he recalled learning last time—asked him. "I'm your son."

_I know_, Six wished he could say. Instead, he ruffled Brayden's bright red hair, forcing himself to smile over the lump in his throat. "I'm… working on it. Could you give me a minute to talk to your mom? I promise I won't leave without telling you again."

The boy seemed reluctant to let go, but nodded. "Okay. But just for a minute," he said before breaking away to kick a ball around the yard.

Six cleared his throat and glanced guiltily at the woman—Colette. His wife.

She stared at him with a combination of indiscernible emotions, the hollowness in her gaze speaking of the void in her spirit. He felt certain she'd been devastating in her beauty once, before stress and sadness had left her gaunt and looking older than her years. Even so, he understood why he had married her in a previous life.

"I'm sorry," he told her, lowering his eyes to the ground. "I shouldn't have run off last time while you were trying to explain who you and Brayden were. It was just a lot to take in. When I tracked down 'my family' after recovering, I thought I'd find parents or siblings. I didn't know I was married and had a kid."

Colette blinked away a gleam of tears and crossed her arms, although her voice remained even. "You abandoned us a second time, but purposely, unlike the first. Why?"

"I panicked. And even now, I still don't remember," Six replied, trying to disguise the forlorn hitch in his tone. "I don't remember you, or him. I don't remember anything from before I was shot in the head. I might never get those memories back. And 'Nate'—that simple working man you married who delivered packages—I'm not him anymore. I've killed people. I'm involved with some dangerous dealings I don't want to expose my family to. It really is better for me to stay away for a while longer."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead, sniffling. "So then why are you here right now?"

Six glanced at his Pip-Boy, where copies of Randall Clark's entries lay within. "I just got back from Utah, the Zion region. I did a lot of thinking over there. And then I figured… maybe it's time."

Fishing into his pocket, he took out the gold wedding ring Colette had handed to him when he'd last visited. He hadn't recognized it, and so refused to wear it after he'd left. But once, it had held significance to him. It could again.

He slipped it back onto his ring finger. Perfect fit. "I can't promise that things will go back to the way they were. I have unfinished business all around the Mojave, so I can't come home for good just yet. And there's really no guarantee that I'll ever regain my memories," he declared, giving her a small smile when she let out a teary laugh of relief. "But you're my wife, he's my son. I have to try. For you, I'll try."

As Colette threw her arms around his neck and wept into his chest, and Brayden came running back to latch onto his waist again, Six—or Nate—felt the first twinges of recollection break through the fog in his mind.

A long distance away, the Father in the Caves stayed on silent vigil, never knowing of the one family he had saved.

The Three of Hearts.


End file.
